Get Off My Back
by CampionSayn
Summary: Multiple crossover drabbles involving a rarely appreciated pairing that, though slash, doesn't often come up in the forums since it would be the epitome of push-pull relationships. Terry/Warhawk, slash, AU.


Title: Get Off My Back  
Summary: Multiple crossover drabbles involving a rarely appreciated pairing that, though slash, doesn't often come up in the forums since it would be the epitome of push-pull relationships. Terry/Warhawk, slash, AU.  
Warning: Crossing Over was the basis for this fic so you might want to be prepped for confusion, there is slash, and it's rated mature for certain hints and the very end drabble which is pretty much just one giant erotic scene.  
Disclaimer: I don't own any characters, materials referenced among the crossovers and make no money from this.  
Dedication: To **DarkAngel** for asking me for this when I'm already stockpiled with more requests than I could ever bloody hope to complete. This way the pairing is out of my head for awhile and it might lure back my dear RMMB from the horrors of the working day. Enjoy.

* * *

**Grey**-:-Pick a Little-:-**Secret of NIMH crossover**-:-

The little black mouse that Rex looked upon (with irritation evident from his own dark brown ears to the tip of his tail) followed behind him, shivering a little from the chill caused by the rain that had seeped into the ground and become entrapped in the ceiling above their heads, his little paws rubbing together and fur bristling in the darkness. What good, ash ancient Kal-El was doing bringing this little outsider into the fray of their rats was beyond the stubborn captain of the guard, but he dared not say anything for fear of bringing angina to their leader's already thready heart.

"Thank you again for seeing me now," Terry, the mouse, said to Rex as the big rat hefted the lantern that showed them their way into a better position on his shoulder before it fell off from lack of blood flow.

"Don't thank me," Rex gruffed back, absently and completely, utterly taking no notice when his free hand took the smaller being's paw so he could steer Terry away from the pitfall in the floor that the other rats hadn't fixed up; preventing the mouse from falling.

* * *

**Ivory**-:-Elementary My Dear-:-**Sherlock (BBC) Crossover**-:-

There were thirteen dirty needles in the waste bin and Terry found himself cringing a little at the hissing of the gasses still remaining inside of two of the semi-clear cylinders of glass and wire metal. If those chemicals were anything like what Rex had used for experimentation the week before, Terry was so going to chew his ear off on the dangers of using formaldehyde and semi-condensed acids on the same damn experiment and then leaving them inside the same disposal unit in their kitchen.

Feeling a crick in his spine that had been there since the war he'd performed surgeries in (having the result of forcing him to walk with either a heavy limp, or a slight limp with the help of an Indian made cane) Terry stood tall again and found himself looking with annoyance on the pig's head on the island table of their kitchen than was placed—of course, why not—within the confines of one of the China plates Terry had bought with little white and semi-yellow cranes painted brilliantly in the fine edges. There was also a pair of freshly plucked, very pink and dead chickens on matching plates, stomachs and chest cavities held open with Terry's good silverware.

Ocean Crest blue eyes rolled into the back of his own head as he rotated his head towards his left shoulder and called at the top of his lungs, "Rex Stewart, you get your bony ass in here right this minute, or so help me god, I will never answer another one of your text messages or pickup your organic—expensive—milk again!"

There were a set of heavy thuds that sounded from the living room where Rex spent most of his off days sulking on the sofa as his personal bed. One thud Terry guessed was the whole of Rex's mass dropping onto the floor, and the other thud resulting in a light curse that the brunette supposed could be Rex hitting something sensitive on the coffee table (his head, the lining of his toes, his shin, something Terry vaguely hoped could hurt).

* * *

**Maroon**-:-I Can See You-:-**Nightmare Before Christmas Crossover**-:-

Fingers worked quickly and painlessly on the limb Rex held up to where it had been torn off the stump of Terry's shoulder; thread that was coarse but expensive and a sort of color that many a royal vampire would wear.

"You're going to have to find a way to stop ticking off Blight," Rex stated, his impressive brown wings with the white freckles on every fine feather shaking to remove the traces of chill from the air, movement always causing the resulting factors of heating up.

The makeshift vampire doll with metal wiring underneath his night black strung together cloth snorted at the Masculine Harpy, some of his deep purple stuffing falling out as an effect to the cause which only made him more irritated and—secretly—embarrassed.

"That's not possible."

"And why is that?"

"I like to be free and, if he had it his way—not that he doesn't make great efforts to try—I'd be locked in that underground castle of his for the rest of my eternity."

Rex hummed and adjusted Terry from his current seat—his lap—so that his own knees jutted upwards and Terry's crotch was more situated on his stomach, the younger man's buttocks sitting on Rex's presently armored lap. The armor plating no doubt digging into him painfully if only he weren't so desensitized to pain (compliments of Blight's so-called parenting techniques to keep Terry in line).

Terry repositioned his uninjured arm and wrapped it under and around Rex's torso, the thumbtack heads that served as his fingernails resting below the curve of the harpy's wing, lightly tickly where the baby sized feathers grew outwards into the kinds of feathers that, when directed properly, could slice a human being easily and injure any various supernatural being with equal ease.

* * *

**December Eve**-:-What Is and Is Not-:-**CSI Crossover**-:-

"Now this is the best way to go."

Two bodies entangled in sweaty sheets, all hands entwined in the last drop of euphoria, curved chests pressed tightly together even after rigor mortis has set in and the bodies should look beautiful but they don't.

CSI had been called in an hour ago by Detective Barda; Bruce (Terry and Rex's boss) had assigned them this particular case for no other reason than the fact that they were the only two not on an open case—Jarred and Max had been assigned a case involving a bio-geneticist and an incident in his lab, Dana and Rosalie had been directed out of state lines to determine the events in the death of a reporter for the Daily Planet all the way in Metropolis and the lab could not send untrained-in-the-field Kai-Ro anywhere until he took the board exams—and Terry took note that Rex was getting a little too much out of photographing the scene for the leaner male's liking.

While Rex took his photos of the two blonde bodies on the disgustingly blue fluffy bed (both long haired blondes, though one was male, heavily tattooed, and the other was female with not a mark on her; his skin having more coloration after decomposing that she) Terry took notes on their figures and then proceeded to open the drawers in the desk near the bed with the complimentary TV situated on it, looking for their IDs or any clues to their real identities. Their names couldn't possibly be 'Roger and Jessica Rabbit' as they had signed themselves in at the front desk.

"No, this is not the best way to go," Terry rebuked the tan man, finding a purse in the third drawer from the top, his gloved hands opening it up to find that, lucky him, there was the ID of the woman in there with scarce else but some lipstick, eyeliner, chewing gum, credit cards, cash and a newly bought packet of condoms, "Except maybe for you. Dying underneath a hooker is only suitable for people like Rockefeller and such. Then again, with those terms, this could be the best way to go for you."

"Ah, he can snark today," Rex chuckled at the blonde female, finishing his photos and setting the camera back in his duffel bag of tricks to proceed with trying to pry the two bodies away from each other, "Perhaps he's finally forgiven me for the problem with our last date, eh?"

"The woman's name is Melanie Walker," Terry interrupted blandly, placing the woman's ID back in the purse and went about looking for the man's ID, "And don't talk to the dead like that, it's disrespectful."

Rex answered that little statement by managing to pry the ghoul looking dead man's hands from his partner, whereupon it recoiled and made a slapping noise—like an applause—on Miss dead Melanie's back skin.

* * *

**Blush and Bashful**-:-Ardor-:-**New York, I Love You Crossover**-:-

It's amazing what lighting a cigarette can lead to.

_A light pink mouth opens and stays open. Why should it stay open? Why, because it has something warm, hard and soft at the same time, secreting fluid inserted into it. In and out and in and out and always, always followed by heavy groans and reverberations. The reverberations cause a twitching that is tremendously pleasant from the appendage residing momentarily in the pink mouth._

Two people on the street, never met before in a lifetime. One is trying in vain to light a cigarette with paper painted scarlet for show. The other ends up coming along to offer up a much better lighter and a larger hand to keep the wind at bay.

_Saturated blue eyes noticed, just in a moment, a picture of a Chinese painted deep brown crane standing in a silky red water pond with a bat fluttering above its head trying to catch butterflies flittering off of the lily pads in the water. But, the notice of the painting does not last long as eyes close because of a pair of tan, big bear sized hands bracing pliant thighs, knees, ankles caressing and rubbing to make skin and feelings blow into a firestorm._

Idle chit-chat for the sake of politeness falls to the side in the change of tone into interest. Interest reaches out to ask of the want of liquor. Acceptance for one drink is granted and two people find themselves walking, at the stroke of midnight, down dank, wet alley ways and side streets towards where the elder man knows there is a bar open at such an hour.

_There is a light in the back if the larger man's (larger in all aspects) skull that he can taste and hear and feel as pink. His length slips into the smaller man (not small in a certain aspect, actually) and that color finds its way into every crevice of his mind with the heat that envelopes him and the call that echoes from the other with the motion of the larger man's hips against his backside and inwards. What's wrong with pink in this sort of situation?_

"I'm sorry, I seem to have forgotten your name."

"I didn't give it to you."

_Nothing is wrong with pink in this situation. Not as pink is seen at the end when the younger man cries out at reaching the intention of the evening, mouth wide and open as it had been earlier…_

"Well, I'm Rex."

"Terry."

_Not as pink is the same color of both of their tongues meeting to swallow up cries as the tan dominant reaches the end of his rope and bucks into the other with all the fluid motion of a work of art…_

"Want to go to my place? It's raining again and you look like you could use the company."

"I…suppose I could stay for a little while."

_No, pink is not a bad color between two men in this instance. Not at all_.


End file.
